


Lending an ear at 3 am

by AltheaShepard



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 3 am coffee, Depression, Discussion of Grief, Discussion of coping, Fic Challenge, First steps are important, Grief, Hopeful, Light At the End Of the Tunnel, Mentions of Character Death, Soul Bond, discussion of loss, lending an ear, mental health, soul searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28529709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltheaShepard/pseuds/AltheaShepard
Summary: Sometimes all it takes is 3 am coffee and someone willing to listen to help you find the first step to take.
Relationships: Urianger Augurelt/Thancred Waters
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Bookclub Top Trope Challenge (January 2021)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time participating in a fic challenge! Um, let me know what you think?

The shop was quiet as expected for three in the morning. A handful of bar flies that hadn’t decided to go home yet sat slumped over tables nursing the strongest cups of coffee the shop could provide. One or two patrons huddled around scattered notes and open books, sucking down caffeine like it was the only thing that could save them. It was hard to tell if the wide eyed frantic expressions on their faces were because it was true or because of the caffeine. The early morning rush would start trickling in in about an hour and a half with Estinian’s grumpy face trudging through the door as the sun was coming up. He’d order three coffees, claim they were all for him and they’d both pretend he didn’t wander across the street to the cat cafe just as it’s owner was going in to feed everyone and get the shop ready. She hadn’t quite figured out who the third coffee was for. Maybe she’d bug Haurchefant on her lunch break.

The routine of the shop, and most of the block really, was well known to her by this point. Enough that she knew it was noon when Lyna came in to shoo her upstairs to get something called sleep despite the fact that she’d be wired for a few more hours still. She knew it was Monday when Mother Miounne came in and bought up every muffin in the case and three gallons of coffee for the staff at her own shop. It had to have been a rough night at the First when Ardbert came stumbling in complaining of a headache and wanting their nightcap tea. He’d call an Uber afterwards and she’d text him an hour later to make sure he’d gotten home ok. 

Knowing all these routines, these people, was a comfort to her. It made things a little boring at times but it also made it very easy to spot when someone was new. And given how her life had gone thus far, she was also very good at spotting when someone needed an ear. 

_ Luckily you have two very cute ones right atop your head, kitten _ .

Shaking her head to dispel her other Uncle’s voice (and to chase away the flush of warmth such compliments always gave her), she set about making another cup of coffee, a special blend she used when her partner was feeling out of sorts. She didn’t understand how it worked, just that it did. One last sweep of the shop to make sure she wouldn’t be needed for a while, she scooped up the cup as well as one for herself and made her way to the corner where the white haired stranger had been sitting every night for the past week looking like he was debating life’s mysteries and finding nothing but darkness. 

“Not that I’m not happy to have a new face around here but yours is rather disconcerting.”

The man startles, hands briefly closing around his long chilled cup enough that she’s afraid he’ll shatter it. Wide silver eyes blink at her for a moment before he attempts a charming smile.

“I’m sorry. Surely I don’t look--”

“You look like someone that needs to be talked down off a ledge.”

“...that bad…”

He quiets then, looking back down at his cup with a troubled frown. She takes the opportunity to sit across from him, sliding him the fresh cup as she cradles her own. Her feet are grateful for the rest, slowly starting to throb just to make their displeasure known. Perhaps she did need new shoes.

“I didn’t… order another cup…”

“I know. But I’ve found that something warm usually helps people figure out their problems. As well as an ear or two willing to listen.”

She flicks her ears for emphasis, raising her eyebrows and taking another sip. Warmth rushes down her throat and spreads slowly through her chest. Her table mate glances between the cup he still holds and the fresh one for a long handful of seconds before carefully taking up the new cup and breathing in the steam. She can see a smidge of tension leave his hands as they soak in the warmth from the cup. He’s quiet for a little longer, staring into the dark brew, thumb sweeping over the ceramic. Emotions deep and dark and sticky play across his face, tightening his jaw and twisting his brow. He’s fighting himself, she knows but as he breathes in another pull of steam, as he catches another wiggle of her ears in silent offer, the dam seems to crack.

“A… Friend of mine passed… a few months ago. Cancer. Progressed too quickly for treatment to be effective. We’d known each other for years. She’d been like a sister to me. Was a sister to all of us…”

“...Your friends are pretty close?”

“Yes. Very. All different but… but family. So it was devastating to lose her.”

“Hm. It’s always hard when someone close passes. The grief can be… overwhelming.”

There’s a brief memory of the shriek of tearing metal, the distracting wonder of whether the smell of gasoline or antiseptic burns more and the crushing cold of not knowing if her partner would survive. She can’t see even a papercut now without flinching.

“She left behind her mother and… and her younger sister. I’ve been trying to help for months. House repairs, shopping trips, getting Ryne to and from school and dance practice when F’lhaminn had to work. Ryne is… is also much like a younger sister but… I thought…”

His jaw clenched tight, knuckles going white around the cup and for a brief moment she’s glad she’d grabbed one of the sturdier ones. Silver eyes went wet before he blinked the tears away and finally took a sip of his drink. She knew he didn’t taste it quite yet, caught up in pouring his soul onto the table.

“I thought that by helping them I could work past it. That I could keep part of Minfillia with me if I stayed close but. But then I called Ryne Minfillia,” she can hear his throat click as he tries to swallow, “and when I got home, Urianger asked me about it. Asked me if I’d ever talked to Ryne about it. If the only reason I was around was because… because they were my last connection to Minfillia.”

The tears escape this time, rolling slowly down his cheeks without his notice.

“I couldn’t answer,”

The admission is bitter with guilt, despair, loathing. He knows what he should have said, knows why he didn’t. Over the last week he’s probably examined the situation over and over and over again and realized the truth of the matter. Despite his honest want to help the family left behind, there was a small selfish part of him that honestly hadn’t considered beyond keeping that part of his friend close so that he might have a piece of her left. She could understand that. She’d seen something similar in her uncles. But that wasn’t necessarily all of it.

“This Urianger,” she says softly, watching him carefully. “He’s your bonded isn’t he?”

His lips curl into a bitter smirk, a tremor working up his arms. The words are spat out, tinged with confusion and hurt and longing.

“He’s known for years. But he never… he never said anything… Even in those last days, he never….”

She hums thoughtfully, nails tapping lightly on her cup as she considers. 

“What do you do for a living?”

He pauses a moment, looking up at her with a frown.

“Doctor, mechanic, shop worker?”

“I…. I’m a photographer. I travel all over for magazines and,” he chuckles but it’s a little bitter, “I have a few books published.”

Another hum as a few things click into place.

“He’s known for years that you’re his bonded and he never said anything?”

He shakes his head, taking another sip of his drink.

“Probably because he thought if he did he’d tie you down and you’d end up resenting him for it.”

Her words take a minute to process and when they do he jerks his head up with a frown so deep she’s convinced she’s seeing the birth of another canyon in Thanalan.

“I’m told something similar happened with my uncles. Uncle Hyth knew he was bonded with Uncle Emet but never said anything because Uncle Emet never admits to soft gooey things and is likely to be scared off by them. Uncle Emet only found out when Uncle Hyth got engaged to someone else and nearly broke Uncle Hyth’s finger trying to get the ring off him.” Here she has to chuckle. “It was like something out of a romcom.”

“So… your Uncle Hyth knew but… but never said anything…”

“Because he knew that Uncle Emet would likely bolt at the first opportunity. Better to have him close in some way that not at all.”

He blinks slowly, considering. She can see the gears turning in his head as things are reexamined, rearranged and clicking into place much more smoothly. Surprise is slow to dawn on his face but it’s there though it does add to the lost look. 

“That sounds like him,” he murmurs. 

“Sounds like a lot of people. You’d be surprised how common it is that people are afraid to say something to their bonded when they think the other would be disappointed it was them. But if you talk to him, mayhap you could figure it out. And mayhap he could help you with your grief.”

Silence falls between them but it’s a comfortable one. The despair hanging like a miasma around him has lifted slightly, enough that perhaps he can see a light at the far end of the tunnel. Or at least see that there’s a possibility to move forward.

The bell above the door rings, Renda Rae strolling in and tossing a wave her way as she heads to the kitchen to start baking. Four o’clock then. Enough time to get the urns cleaned out and fresh coffee brewing. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you so long,” 

He moves to get up, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket as he does. She just scoffs and slides out of the booth, reaching over to roughly tousle his hair. The startled look on his face makes her chuckle.

“Finish your drink and I’ll make you another two. Then you can go home and start to fix things.”

She doesn’t wait for him to respond, turning on her heel and going back behind the bar to get started on the morning tasks. Long practice makes her quick and she’s just setting up the first brew of coffee when he steps back up to the counter, cup in hand and a faintly hopeful, largely bashful look on his face.

“I don’t… know what that drink was but could I perhaps get two more? It was very good.” 

She snorts, taking up the cup and putting it in the sink as she sets about making two more. 

“G’raha always grumbles that I put truth serum in it but it isn’t my fault lavender helps calm people down.”

Setting the to go cups on the counter, she waves away his attempt to pay for them. Instead, she hands him a card she’d dug out of her bag.

“My Uncle Hyth is a therapist. Give him a call if you need to.”

He takes it carefully, looking like he wants to argue but instead tucking it safely away in his wallet. His head stays bowed as he takes up the cups, a faint flush creeping into his ears.

“Thank you,”

“Mm. Go. Before those get cold.”

A quick jerky nod and he turns, walking out the door into the night. She doesn’t know if she’ll see him again but she certainly hopes so. Just to know that everything’s on the way to working out.

  
  
  
  
  


A week later and she’s just dealing with the last of the morning rush when the bell chimes. Lyna calls out a greeting from the other end of the bar while she finishes taking the current order. Rubbing her hands over her face, her eyes burning from being awake for so long, she forces one more smile on her face to greet the trio that steps up. The smile is much less forced as she recognises the face in front. He’s bashful again but lighter, right hand curled around his elezen companion’s left. The man is handsome with starlight hair and pretty gold eyes. There’s a look of contentment and tentative hope on the elezen’s face and she guesses this must the Urianger the other spoke of. Which means the little strawberry blonde with the light blue eyes must be Ryne.

She can’t help a smirk as satisfaction settles in her chest.

“Took my advice, huh?”

He chuckles with a nod, squeezing his companion’s hand as he lifts them into clearer view. She can just spot the matching circular marks on their forearms, branches curling out to start forming the band that would grow as their relationship did. 

“I did. Both parts of it.”

She nods, pleased and looks back to the girl. The little one fidgets with her fingers, clearly wanting to be part of the conversation but making it look like she’s just eager to order.

“Let me guess. Something with strawberries?”

She startles, flushing a little as she nods.

“Thought so. Since the idiot behind you never told me his name, could you tell me?”

The elezen huffs, fond but exasperated.

“Thancred, honestly,”

“I was a bit distracted to bother with introductions!” Thancred quickly defends. 

Ryne giggles as the two bicker a bit longer. She just lets them, typing in two more drinks to the register and sending the ticket down. While Lyna handles the drinks, she leans on the counter and offers a hand to the girl.

“I’m N’yx. And you must be Ryne, hm?”

The girl nods, taking her hand to shake.

“I am. Thank you by the way.”

Elaboration isn’t needed as they shake hands, nor are words necessary to explain the look on Urianger’s face. Again she waves away Thancred’s attempt to pay, smirking at his protests and not giving one wit about a gesture of appreciation. She just waves them down the bar and cracks her neck, deciding to head upstairs early and maybe drag G’raha into taking a nap with her. 

Later, however, she realizes that she should have paid more attention as Lyna cackles when she discovers the rather hefty tip he’d stuffed in the tip jar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One good conversation deserves another.

The mark started as a tiny dot on the inside of his right forearm, so small that he hadn’t noticed it for a good year or two until it had grown to a small circle. The center of it was a twisting myriad of curls in various shades of blue, branching out to form a tightly woven ring of the same color. Over time, the pattern seemed to repeat with curls branching out from the circle once more in a delicate and varying pink to form another circle. The first edges of green were just starting at the sides of the circle, perhaps to start forming the band that would eventually (hopefully) complete itself around his arm in time. The marks always varied between pairs and groups, both in shape and color. Some had a lot of one color and very little of another. Some were small as watches around a wrist or as elaborate as a full sleeve or back tattoo. The only solid similarity between every mark was the significance of the colors and the fact that a band formed to make the mark complete.

The mark could mean a connection to a friend or a family member or a lover. A person that was meant specifically for you, to match you and complete that part of your soul that felt like something was missing. Old legends said they were gifts from long forgotten gods in a time where every soul was split so completely the world was also sundered into thirteen pieces. As a boy, he’d loved the epic the legend came from, reading it over and over and over again until he could imagine the heroes and villains as clearly as something he’d see on television. He’d felt that ache the legend spoke of and longed to know who would be the person, or persons, that would be meant to keep him. That were meant for him to keep. 

As the years trickled by, as he grew and started to venture out to satisfy that wandering itch in his feet, he wondered if he would ever find them. He wondered if the wanderlust would fade or if he’d continue to ache to venture out to new places. Would his bonded come with him? Would they stay? Would they resent him for always being gone? 

Running his thumb over the mark now as he sits on his couch in the dark, he thinks that maybe… maybe he should have been the one to say something sooner. 

Every reason he hadn’t circled around and around in his mind, taunting him, trying to reassure him. But he knew the reassurances were wrong. He knew the nature of his intended. It was imprinted in his mind over several years of friendship and the deep colors on his skin, the center of which being the foundation of their entire relationship. The vibrancy of the colors spoke to a deep relationship, one long lasting and full. A separate part of his mind wondered as to the nature of the relationship he’d seen curling across the barista’s left hand, bright reds and oranges and pinks. A riot of sunset colors that covered the back of her hand and connected all the way around her wrist and crept up her forearm. 

Would theirs stretch that far?

Would theirs be that vibrant?

The lamp clicking on beside him startles him, briefly blinding him with the warm light. Urianger stares at him in concern, robe belted tightly around his slim waist. His gold eyes are still somewhat fogged, hair a bit tangled from having no doubt just woken. Thancred isn’t sure if the dark circles under Urianger’s eyes are tricks of the shadows or something that has long since been there.

“Have you been sitting here all night?” Urianger asks, voice deep and rough around the edges.

Wordlessly, Thancred reaches for one of the cups on the table, glad it’s still warm to the touch and offers it to him. The words stick in his throat for a moment, spilling forth as Urianger’s fingers hesitantly touch the offering.

“Could we talk?”

Those eyes sharpen, examine him, searching his face for… something. For once, Thancred doesn’t let the wall build, letting Urianger see the twist of his brow, the downturn of his lips, the tension in his jaw and the paleness of his cheeks. No doubt he looks like shit. It certainly matches the roiling of his stomach.

Slowly, Urianger takes the cup and rounds the couch, sitting down in the overstuffed armchair. He waits for Urianger to take a sip of the drink, managing a tiny flicker of a smirk at the surprised look on the other’s face.

“It’s from a shop on the corner of Gysahl and Meine. I’ve been…. I’ve been going there every night for a week.” 

“...Have you?”

“Mm. The barista there. I think she got tired of me darkening a table and came over tonight. It… helped.”

Thancred wants to think he reads a flash of hurt in the tightening of the corners of Urianger’s eyes but he isn’t sure. It’s been difficult lately, for a long while actually, to read his closest friend. Normally, they could have entire conversations with just a wiggle of the eyebrow or twitch of the lips but… Lately…

“You were…. Right. About Ryne. About… about Minfillia. I clung so hard to Ryne and F'lhaminn thinking that I could keep part of Minfillia with me if I did that I never considered how either of them felt about it. How Ryne felt about it.” A chuckle escapes him, wet around the edges. “I owe them both quite the apology.”

He isn’t looking at Urianger now, gaze focused back on the mark on his arm, thumb rubbing over the skin in an unconscious attempt to comfort himself. But he doesn’t have to look to know that Urianger’s words are very carefully chosen.

“They no doubt understand that you’ve been grieving, Thancred. As they have.” 

“That doesn’t excuse it. That doesn’t excuse me ignoring their attempt to talk about Minfillia, to try and work through their own grief and help me with mine.”

A beat. Two. The words settling like ash on his tongue.

“No. No, it does not.”

He nods slowly, that truth settling in his chest.

“It also doesn’t excuse my reaction. To you.”

The air seems to leave the room. Drawing his head up, Urianger isn’t looking at him, cradling the cup much as he had done a short while ago. His brows are twisted, lips pressed into a thin line. He wants to be gentle but the truth of it is, in the state, he doesn’t think he can be.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Urianger?”

Urianger draws in a shaking breath, dark lashes briefly hiding troubled gold. When gold meets silver, he can see the bare honesty, the troubled truth, the regret.

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” 

Words roll around slowly, plucked through and discarded, arranged like a florist arrangers flowers for a wedding. The itch in his skin demands the other hurry, demands an explanation. He doesn’t know how long he sits there just waiting, but he does. 

“You are,” Urianger begins slowly, “A very free spirited person, Thancred. You’ve wanted to see the world ever since you were a boy, always wanting to explore as an adventurer in those books you liked. Always wanting to see what the world offered. Whereas I am far more comfortable in a library or a lecture hall or a museum. How would it…. How would it be right to ask you to anchor yourself to me when all you’ve wanted is the freedom to see the world?”

Part of him, somewhere in the middle of his chest, wants to be offended. Is offended. He’d waxed poetic about seeing the world for years, enduring Minfillia’s giggles and Urianger’s attempts to learn survival techniques alongside him, it was true. But it was also true that they’d spent many a night in the summer staring at the stars wondering at who their intended would be. Wondering about what they looked like, what they sounded like, how they would build their lives. In the same breath he’d sung about the adventures he’d take, he’d sung a complimentary tune of a home waiting for him, a haven to return to. A place to belong especially for him. 

“Do you remember,” he starts, forcing aside the hurt, “That summer after graduation. Minfillia was talking about going spelunking to try and mine some rocks to start her jewelry business and I was talking about wandering to Rak’tika to see how different it was from Gridania. You nearly outright demanded we both call you during the trip to keep in touch. And I--”

“Called every day.”

“And when I had that job with that one  _ awful _ client that kept extending the trip until I nearly went blind in The Burn, I--”

“Called every night and often fell asleep in the middle.”

Thancred looks up from watching Urianger’s hands, throat tight and teeth aching with the need to make himself clear. His tongue sat stuck to the roof of his mouth until, with a great heave inward of air, he forced the words passed it.

“As close as Minfillia and I were, you were the reason I kept coming back here.”

He isn’t sure if the light on Urianger’s face is because of the sun starting to lighten the curtains or because the words are sinking into Urianger’s mind. He wants to think it’s the latter as Urianger slowly sets aside the cup and kneels before Thancred.

“Ever have I endeavored,” he murmurs, the words seeming stuck for him too, “To make sure you had a place to return to. A place for you to rest. A place you didn’t feel stifled in.”

“You always have,” Thancred whispers, hand coming up to brush Urianger’s cheek.

“Whenever you left on another trip I… I would be dismayed that you were leaving but elated about the stories and photos you would bring back. Your tales are so vibrant, the lives you capture in a photo so… vivid. The joy on your face, Thancred….”

Another chuckle, his forehead pressing to Urianger’s.

“But you were worried you would stifle me. Clip my wings. And I would resent you. While I was worried that my bonded wouldn’t understand my need to go on adventures.” 

Long fingers brush against his cheek, wiping away something wet.

“But you’ve never resented that. You’ve always understood. And you… you’ve always…”

He has to take a moment to breathe, squeezing his eyes shut to try and compose himself before he shakes apart at the seams. 

“Can we start over? Please?”

His arm sits on his knee, forearm to the sky, mark on full display. The itch has changed to a burn, fingers wanting to reach and grasp and hold and demand but he keeps them still. If the colors are right, his patience will be rewarded. As it always has. As it likely always would be.

Those eyes he’d looked into a thousand times shimmer, as they always should. Long fingers attached to an ever warm palm ghost across his skin. Carefully, slowly, almost like he’s afraid Thancred will rip his arm away, that palm settles over the mark. Heat curls up his arm and into his palm as Urianger’s own mark settles against his skin. There is no resentment, no disgust or anger. That flighty feeling that’s always fluttered up and down his spine begins to settle. Distantly, he’s aware that the first curls of the band are starting to form but all he’s able to really focus on is the relief he can see in those eyes.

“All I want,” Urianger whispers, nose gently nudging his own, “is to be the one you can return to.”

He wonders if he’ll ever be able to speak again without forcing the words past a tight knot in his throat. If that cooling, comforting feeling spreading across his limbs and soothing the burning in his chest is what relief feels like. 

“Will you help me?”

A hand curls around the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair as Urianger’s lips press against his forehead.

“Always.”

When he closes his eyes to savor this feeling, this peace, he swears that there’s a little pinprick of light at the edges. Nothing is fixed, he knows. He has many apologies to make and a business card with a number to call but. But. There’s a new weight, warm and comforting, settling into his bones and a hand to gently guide him from the darkness. There are so many cracks to fix but with Urianger’s hand in his, maybe he’s found the first steps to fix them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I felt like this needed a second chapter and this is actually the second version of this. I looked up color meanings and what I found was interesting!  
> Blue: Trust, Loyalty Yellow: Happiness, Optimism  
> Pink: Love, Compassion Purple: Spirituality, Imagination  
> Green: Harmony, Health, Safety Brown: Stability, Reliability  
> Turquoise: Calmness, Clarity Black: Protection, Power  
> Orange: Enthusiasm, Emotion Grey: Compromise, Control  
> Red: Passion, Energy White: Purity, Innocence


End file.
